


the blizzard, the dream weaver, and me

by lightningwaltz



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-04
Updated: 2011-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-17 14:15:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/pseuds/lightningwaltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meera's days before Winterfell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the blizzard, the dream weaver, and me

Meera had rarely ventured beyond the Neck, and not once to any great lord’s keep. The permanent fortifications of her father’s tales bore no resemblance to her home; the seat of House Reed was formed from thatch, rather than wrought in stone and metal, it and moved where the swamp willed. Every few seasons, it was time to build Greywater Watch anew.

Even if her family’s stronghold was not a castle in truth, the Reeds were still the Neck’s lords. That was the way it had been centuries upon centuries. Meera’s family guarded their fellow crannogmen from the warlike appetites of the Westerosi great lords, and provided food for its people even in the depths of winter.

Above all, they held on to the memories of all that came before.

*****

Once, Meera’s mother had laughed and said that Howland Reed should have chosen the life of a wandering bard. That assessment held a shade of the truth. While her father’s singing voice was ordinary at best, few could compare to Meera’s father’s way with words. He could recall the most heartrending or terrifying tales quick as lightning. It relieved her family’s tedium when storms battered their lands, and the Reed family was forced to take refuge indoors for hours or days. A Reed was forever on the move, whether through movement or in thought.

Best of all, most of her fathers tales were true.

Howland’s most frequent stories (and the best, in Meera’s opinion) were those of his time spent in Lord Eddard Stark’s service. Meera would fall asleep, dreaming of the music of swords clashing against spears. Her imagination would conjure the dresses and jewels ladies wore to tourneys. Though she would wonder what such a life would be like, she was glad enough of it in the morning when she could wear her jerkin and lambskin breeches and wander where she willed. Even so, sometimes she felt as though her heart was calling her to lands far away.

“It could be that you have a touch of the greensight, Meera, and you sense what the future holds,” her father had mused one evening. “The trait is common enough in our family.” The sat by the fire at night, after the tables had been cleared of food.

She thought about what he had said, and then glanced up at her father. Something in his eyes made her ask; “you speak of Winterfell, Harrenhall and Dorne, but after the war you came back here. You’ve never left. Why is that?”

“Ah, as to that… Meera I can tell you enjoy the stories of that time, and they certainly deserve to be remembered. But I had seen enough of war for a lifetime. The men I fought beside would put a brave face on it, but all of them wanted one thing most of all.

“They wanted to go home,” Meera said quietly, after a time.

“Yes. So many men died, longing for it. After enough time spent away, after I heard about the daughter born in my absence, I knew that if I were to return home I would not want to ever leave again.”

*****

“That is true,” her mother said later. “Your father decided after the war that he would prefer to remain here. And the gods know I am glad of his company.” Then she laughed. “You are restless though, and it’s common enough in your age. Enjoy this time.”

*****

Above all Meera loved to hunt and explore. Greywater Watch may have been where her family lived, but the entire Neck encompassed her home. Every so often she felt compelled to leave, frogspear in hand, holding on to the barest minimum of supplies. She tracked her prey, avoided lizard-lions (they seemed entirely unaware that they were her sigil) and slept under willow trees. She would return a week later; hauling back frogs, birds and fish, and all who dwelled near her home would eat well for days. Once she had even managed to overtake a deer, but carrying it back had required the help of other crannogmen.

Her family’s location was ever changing, but Meera never lost her way. She knew the telltale markers of human civilization and could always find her way back.

If her parents were worried that one day she would go off course, they never showed it; they trusted to her strength and abilities.

*****

Meera never lost her way, but one evening, in her fourteenth year, she returned to find that everything had changed. In her absence, her mother and brother had been struck by the greywater fever. The gods had taken Jyana Reed within hours of the first sighting of symptoms, but Meera’s brother stubbornly clung to life.

Meera came home to find that her mother had already been buried, and her brother lay convalescing; pale, exhausted, his eyes greener than ever. The crannogmen whispered about him when they thought no one was listening, and Meera knew it had little to do with her brother’s health  
“Oh Jojen,” she murmured, her heart torn with grief for their mother and worry for her younger sibling. “Please recover.”

Jojen had always been such a solemn thing, but lately he seemed a thousand years old. “You don’t need to worry about my death just yet.”

*****

Meera still took to the wetlands to hunt, but it was less the pursuit of a young girl and more the actions of a survivor. She had become the lady of her House, even if she knew enough to be aware that the Westerosi lords would snicker at her appearance and way of life. The continued existence of her family partially rested on her shoulders and she would do her duty.

Her brother was quick enough to share his green dreams, and the crannogmen regarded him with a mixture of reverence and apprehension.

“Jojen keeps dreaming of a winter storm that will sweep all of the North. It won’t stop at the Neck, the Riverlands, or even Dorne.” Her words to her father were quiet, even though it seemed as though everyone who lived in the Neck was aware of her brother’s visions. Jojen was never stingy with his opinions.

Her father’s smile seemed an afterthought. “Well the Neck has seen hundreds of winters, what’s one more?” He said, trying to reassured her. But she could tell the words weighed on him.

*****

“Do your dreams _have_ to come true?” Meera asked her brother in a fit of frustration one day.

Jojen frowned slightly, thinking it over. “Yes? No? The details change, but the whole remains the same.”

“But could you change something entirely?” Meera pressed.

Her brother shook his head. “I’ve never known it to happen,” with all the solemn wisdom of his young years.

*****

“You’re entirely sure?” Howland Reed asked their visitor, as though the question could rewrite the past.

 _Poor father_ , Meera thought. _This news has hit him hard._

“Certain,” the Southroner, a traveler through this land who had taken refuge in Greywater Watch during a a vicious thunderstorm. “Eddard Stark’s dead, and his son’s declared war against the crown.”

After their visitor had gone to sleep, Jojen and Meera sat by the fire, whispering.

“Robb Stark should not have gone south.” Jojen said. “I understand why he did it, but he should not have done so.”

Meera knew he brother was alluding to deadly forces beyond all human understanding. She simply found herself worrying more about the hundreds of widows that would soon populate the Seven Kingdoms.

“There is still a Stark in Winterfell.” _Or there should be, if father’s stories are true._ “Bran Stark.” Several weeks ago, a different traveler had brought them news of the young boys fall from a tower.

Very little Meera said seemed to surprise her brother anymore. And yet he sat in silence now for several long moments. “Then let’s talk to father about traveling to Winterfell.”

How easily he said it, as though it would be as visiting their nearest neighbors in the Neck.

“I’ll ask him in the morning.”


End file.
